'In August, I borrowed high quality sound recording technology from work and stayed at Tvergasteintjørne for about a week. This was my first serious recording session. I explored and recorded sounds of water, stones, sheep and practices like wading, drinking, skinny-dipping and footsteps on various types of grounds. I also wanted to record the waves on the tarn; however, there was no wind the whole week. The wind returned the last day of the stay, but then the battery was flat.
I thought of making an excuse for a shortcut. 'Why not record the waves of Mjøsa [my local lake], they will sound exactly the same, nobody will know', I commented to my companion. 'Are you crazy, how can you think in such a way, don't sink so low!', she expressed indignantly. I agreed. The project must be authentic, no fake artefacts, no betrayal, or else there is no purpose. We were both disappointed at my moment of weakness.
So recording the waves of Tvergasteintjørne became the mission of the following trips. The next trip was early October. By then I had bought a new second-hand full-frame camera that I was keen to explore. I planned to stay for three or four days. The weather forecast had predicted clear sky the first day and cloudy the next, so I planned to make photographs the first day and record the sounds of the waves the next.
Besides, I found it difficult to work with photography and sound recording at the same time.
The first day was crisp and clear. While I photographed by the tarn, I listened to
the sounds of the waves and looked forward to recording them the next day.'
This is how it looked this afternoon in October, and the morning after.
The next day was all white. It had been snowing all night and the ground was covered
with 15 - 20 cm of snow. Moreover, the tarn was covered with slush. No waves, no sound
whatsoever, complete silence. I comforted myself, 'I can wait, it will be gone tomorrow',
but immediately realised that it would not. The snow may stay until the spring and
the slush will turn into ice and I had better get going!
I was in danger; I had no skis, it was a long walk to people and the station, the snow covered
ground made it difficult to see where I stepped; along the way I could slip on stones or step
into holes or brooks in the ground and break my leg. I grabbed my mobile telephone, which
was my only security line if something happened.
Walking slowly and carefully down the hill, I made it to the station, wet and tired. My mission
to record the sounds of Tvergasteinstjørn had not succeeded, but I was very happy with
the photographs taken with my new camera.
Recording the waves of the tarn first happened the next summer.' Here it is: